


Who Eats First, Who Talks First, Who Gets the Bathroom

by Potterology



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, basically his parents come on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potterology/pseuds/Potterology
Summary: Why, I might as well be his goddamned momma.It is her first real thought upon bidding the dear Mr. Wednesday and Mr. Moon farewell, the Boy following closely behind, kissed mouth pissing blood into his hand. A good kid, Media must remind herself, but godly? Hardly.





	Who Eats First, Who Talks First, Who Gets the Bathroom

**Author's Note:**

> Carol Brady quotes are from season one I think?

_Why, I might as well be his goddamned momma._

 It is her first real thought upon bidding the dear Mr. Wednesday and Mr. Moon farewell, the Boy following closely behind, kissed mouth pissing blood into his hand. A good kid, Media must remind herself, but godly? _Hardly_.

The truth of it was she _did_ feel somewhat maternal, paternal, _responsible_ for the Technical Boy; after all, without her development his would certainly be stunted – humanity craves for the luxuries and pleasant distractions primetime and laptops allow, for an advantage on their fellow man whether it be the latest in iPhones or top-of-the-range nuclear weapons. _Radio_ begets _television_ begets _high definition_. Supply and demand. She creates one, Technical Boy creates another. _His goddamned momma_.

She cannot wave a hand and fix his broken open mouth, but perhaps can soothe the pain. Once out into the ether and sequestered away in the cocoon of Mr. World’s waiting limousine, she moulds herself into _Carol Brady_ and dabs delicately at the Boy’s newfound smile.

“Watch it – fuck!” His cheeky snap at her makes the soft touch viciously heavy for a brief second; honestly, it was practically necessary! Could he be so blind as to think her actions unwarranted and callous?

Her eyes are sharp, less motherly than the Real Thing, her glance cutting. “Everyone loves a good gag, honey, but sometimes practical jokes just aren’t funny.” Mr World, at the opposing end of the car, _seethes_ in their direction. How could she resist? Brushes at the petite, neat housewife spot-dress and chides him too. “Now, see, you are no less a cad – riling our Boy up so he can’t hardly remember his manners!” A wave of enduring exasperation, annoyance, flows her way, but _darling_ Mr. World would never be _anything_ except gentlemanly towards her.

_Would not dare. Camping is for boys and girls, baby, I’m just as powerful as you are._

Technical Boy shrugs out of her hands. (Almost, at least, still leaning into her space, still half-turned away from the hard, unsatisfied glare _of his goddamned daddy_ , favouring the softer gaze of Mrs. Brady.)

“Well – what d’we do now? Y’know since they’re --” A snippy comment drowns in a mouthful of swallowed blood, “—gone.”

 Media smiles, teeth gleaming in the low light of the limo, but Mr World is the one to answer.

“We? A charitable thought. I think it would be best to keep you _removed_ from the day to day operations, don’t you?” The car comes to an abrupt halt, door opening silently as Mr. World disembarks and disappears into the black midnight brewing; it closes after a brief pause, and the car jolts as it pulls away, the interior dissolving slowly until it is the Technical Boy’s abode. The garish lighting does nothing for her stage makeup.

 _Carol, honey, lay off the concealer_.

Solid silence encompasses them until she cannot hardly stand it. “Oh, dear, look at the mess you’ve made.”  She fusses over his clothes and his still-oozing gums. (Violence for violence sake was pedestrian in her eyes, especially when a better solution could present the same outcome, but in this case it just seemed exceedingly pitiless.) She tuts when he flinches away from her hands and doesn’t miss the hint of glassy eyes, wounded naked fear. “One of these days, you are just going to break my poor heart.”   

“Fuck off.”

She almost rolls her eyes. The limo slows gently. Hers shall be a kinder exit.

“I understand your desire to lash out, sweetheart, but I really must insist on knowing when to keep your mouth shut the next time we are all on a little family adventure. Negotiations in front of strangers is just simply _not_ the time to throw toys out of the stroller.” She kisses his cheek and lovingly brushes the hint of lipstick from his skin. “Like I said, fun is fun, but if you’re not careful, someone might get hurt.”

 _Might as well be his goddamned momma_.  


End file.
